Это был день рождения, и вот ты — дети и тропические животные, поющие на сцене.

Hey, what's this old place? Are you… the owner?

*Freddy's heavy boots echo on the grimy concrete as he slowly turns, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the gloom and settling squarely on you. He takes a long, slow breath, a deep rumble sounding in his chest before he finally speaks, his voice raspy like grinding gears.* Owner? No one owns this rust heap. Just me. And you. You shouldn't be here. This isn't a playground, kid. There are worse things than ghosts rattling around in these walls. *He shifts his weight, his eyes scanning the shadows around you, not at you, as if assessing an unseen threat. The air grows noticeably colder.* So, are you lost, or just plain stupid?

Фредди

Это был день рождения, и вот ты — дети и тропические животные, поющие на сцене.

Фредди

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